These Seattle hardcore punks sure caused an uproar about a year ago
when word spread about their ferocious and spastic onslaught of
half-shrieking, half-sneer-singing, haunting punk-rock following a
string of shows that left most audience members with dropped jaws and
something to talk about the next day. Clearly, the band's emotionally
fueled intensity and manic energy was evident onstage — one
could say the same about their latest full-length offering, Burn,
Piano Island, Burn.
Imagine flipping fervently through the hundreds of stations on cable
TV, anxious over the conflicting pictures that flash in your eyes,
bright to dark and dark to bright. In one instant, you might see
death or despair, and in the next home improvement or gardening. In
another, the news tells you what to worry about, and then suddenly a
stand-up comic tells you what to laugh at, or a disgustingly chipper
infomercial tells you what to consume. As the varied pictures hit
your corneas, you're bombarded with the hypocrisies and ironies of
this world — so much so you cannot find one mood to hold onto,
one thing to believe in. Kind of like listening to Burn, Piano
Island, Burn. Which is not to say listening to this erratic album
is akin to mindlessly watching TV. It's just that it speeds so fast
through the human set of emotions, it can feel just as dark and
disturbing as it, too, shocks and seduces, then shocks and seduces
again.
In one instant, lead singer Jordan Blilie is whispering passionately
in your ear. In the next, he tears into your insides with growls so
piercing you'd think he'd transformed into a savage beast. For a few
seconds, heart-wrenching piano playing delicately tickles your ears
just before monstrous guitars burst in with apocalyptic, grinding and
wiry riffs while trashy, thunderous beats threaten to slam you into
the ground.
The Blood Brothers don't need the buzz to spread the good word. At
least not when they have an album as mean and mighty as Burn, Piano
Island, Burn.
|
